


Silent Night

by orphan_account



Category: Lacrosse RPF, One Direction
Genre: Bottom Harry, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/M, Nipple Play, Trans Female Character, Trans Harry Styles, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21991780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Her hackles rise when he laughs in disbelief. “You couldn’t be quiet if you tried. Not without a gag,” he drags his fingers through a loose ringlet by her ear, pulling the hair straight before letting it bounce back feebly in the heavy air of the room. “And I don’t think I packed mine.”
Relationships: Xander Ritz/Harry Styles
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	Silent Night

They’re bundled into the softest, deepest sofa in the conservatory, annexed off from the sweltering heat of the living room and its open fire, the windows dripping onto the sills with condensation. The garden lights illuminate their reflections in the glass against the foggy blackness outside. Harry’s fizzing with the bubbles of the champagne she’s been sipping all day, her head light and her body loose and giddy. She’s even more tactile than usual, needing Xander within reach at all times, and unashamedly sprawled over him now they’re alone, feeling the heat of his body spread through his clothes and into her own. She’s changed out of the silky forest-green dress she wore for lunch, leaving it in a puddle beside her bed before pulling on her favourite joggers and hoodie. 

She’s  _ just  _ drunk enough to be more desperate and careless than she ought to be, but just  _ sober  _ enough to communicate exactly what she wants in a way she knows Xander will understand. She leans over and presses her wet open mouth to Xander’s throat while he’s got her tucked into his lap, her arse fitted between his thighs, her legs off to one side and one arm around his shoulders. “They can’t hear us,” she whispers into the rough stubble along his jaw, nodding towards the living room where her family and friends are sitting. Her cherry lip gloss smears across his skin and she licks it wet with the tip of her tongue before thumbing it away clumsily. 

As if on cue, Gemma barks an incredulous laugh at her boyfriend and Anne titters in agreement, their voices undeniably clear. Xander sighs, “well I can hear  _ them _ .” The TV’s loud, but not loud enough to cover the unmistakable mingle of voices just feet away, and Harry whines. 

“That’s not fair. You’re listening for it,” she pouts, grinding down messily into the heat of his lap, the soft cotton of her joggers catching against his jeans as she moves. When he doesn’t react the way she wants, she bucks her arse pointedly, shifting against where she feels him firming up, desperate to  _ somehow  _ communicate through their clothes how much she’s aching for him. 

Xander grasps her hips firmly, and Harry prepares herself for the disappointment when he sternly tells her to stop and just  _ wait, _ but it doesn’t come. “And  _ they’ll  _ be listening once they hear you.” Her skin feels bruised beneath his hands and she wants  _ more. “ _ Once you start they’ll not have a choice,” he whispers into her ear, his breath tickling her neck. 

Suppressing the pounding urge to scream  _ good, let them,  _ she cups his face in both hands, “I’ll be quiet.” Her lightly-calloused fingertips aside, her hands are smooth and baby-soft, and she can feel every sharp hair of his beard. Wants it against the rest of her. Wants it against her thighs. Wants to feel the hot burn blooming across her skin when she crosses her legs at the dinner table. 

“Oh right?” He smiles, grasping the soft skin of her ear lobe between his thumb and index finger and gently rubbing the now-healed bump where her piercing once was.

“I will,” she insists, indignant. She’s  _ always  _ loud and she knows it, but if it’s the difference between getting Xander’s fingers inside her and sitting clenching and empty, she’ll try her best. Swallow down the way he makes her feel with every part of him. 

Her hackles rise when he laughs in disbelief. “You couldn’t be quiet if you tried. Not without a gag,” he drags his fingers through a loose ringlet by her ear, pulling the hair straight before letting it bounce back feebly in the heavy air of the room. “And I don’t think I packed mine.” 

Usually Harry  _ loves  _ it when Xander teases. When he makes her beg. When she’s drunk on the embarrassment and chattering out  _ exactly _ what she wants him to do to her. While he’s not giving her an inch, regardless of how much she blushes and squirms and tries to take for herself what he won’t give her without her words. Usually she  _ adores  _ that. But not now. Not when she hasn’t been fucked in almost a week. Not when she’s had to share her childhood bedroom with her boyfriend  _ and  _ her cousin, who laid oblivious and wrapped in a polyester sleeping bag on the floor beside them. When she’s had to wake up to Xander’s leg slung heavily across her own, his dick hot and hard against her hip, wet in his boxers when he stretches out the night’s sleep, slinking off for a twenty-minute shower with his phone and a knowing look. Now she fucking hates it. She grabs his wrist from beside her head and pushes his hand straight up beneath her sweater.

“Try me.” 

His fingers feel like ice against her burning skin, and a lick of heady power surges through her as he  _ finally _ chokes “you’re not wearing a bra,” into the hot tangle of her hair. 

For all he warned her to be quiet, his voice is thick and throaty and like thunder deep in her cunt. She arches helplessly into his touch, desperate to  _ behave  _ and be  _ good _ and show him that she  _ can  _ control herself while between her legs she’s blood-heavy and pulsing. “I never do.”

“You were wearing one this morning.” And she’s sure that Xander knows as much because it was a bra he’d bought her. Thick black floral lace in the body and straps, with sheer mesh covering her tits. Watching her pull the material around her waist to fasten it at her front before swivelling it into place and pouring her tits into the cups had cost them another five minutes of useless grinding before leaving the bedroom to come down and open presents. 

She nods, her eyes slipping closed in an effort to concentrate on the way his fingers are tracing the puffy skin of her areolas. “Nipples didn’t look right with that outfit.” 

“I didn’t realise nipples were an accessory.”

“Mine are.” 

“Of course they are,” he laughs, pinching one sharply and rucking her hoodie up her stomach to get a better grip, the dark hair across her soft stomach visible above the waistband of her joggers. She’s almost nauseous with need, forcing her eyes open just enough to watch his toned forearm disappear up under her clothes as he begins to roll her other nipple between his fingers.

“No-” she starts. “I can’t be quiet if you do that,” she warns, shifting in his lap. The line of his erection feels hot against her arse even through their clothes but his face is still infuriatingly placid. Like this is something he can just  _ take _ . Like he doesn’t have her twitching and needy just feet away from her oblivious family. She thinks she can  _ just  _ about manage his fingers in her cunt while being good for him, but her nipples are way too sensitive for her to tolerate his repeated pinching without crying out. 

“Open your legs then,” he says, letting his hand fall to her stomach. When her abused nipples brush against the soft material of her hoodie she has to clench her thighs to keep her head clear, the muscles in her abdomen jumping and she  _ knows  _ he feels it when she hears him chuckle by her shoulder. 

“I’ll fall.” She’s already wobbly and between them they’re almost definitely too big to  _ really  _ fit on the sofa like this.

“You won’t fall, I’ll hold you. Open them,” he instructs. 

The promise that he’s got her, that he’s looking after her, has her parting her legs as wide as the space will allow, slipping further down into Xander’s lap as his hand wraps around her hip, shuffling her closer. With his free hand, Xander drags a spare blanket from where it’s tucked over the back of the sofa and covers them both. 

Her joggers are at least two sizes bigger than she needs, and Xander’s hand slips into the waistband easily. She’s naked beneath them and already wet. Normally, she’d dip her own fingers inside herself to feel the slick proof of just how much she needs him. She’d normally  _ show  _ Xander how ready she is. But her hands are fisted in the coarse blanket, her knuckles white and her breathing shallow, and she daren’t move. 

Xander’s palm dips down before coming to rest flat against where she’s hottest, rubbing her firmly while still giving her  _ nothing _ . 

“So you’re going to be quiet?” He checks one final time, adjusting her bodily in his arms until the angle’s just right.

She doesn’t trust her body;  _ definitely _ doesn’t trust her voice, and it’s barely audible when she squeaks out, “promise.”

“Good girl,” he kisses into the side of her forehead. 

On her next exhale, he presses one finger inside. The slide is easy, and she lets him all the way in. She’s used to taking his fingers now, and one’s no trouble at all when she’s already wet enough for his dick. Now she’s got something else to focus on down there, she can feel how swollen and puffy she is inside, clenching desperately around his finger that rests immobile in her. Her eyes screw shut as he begins to work his fingertip where she needs it, dry heat blooming up the skin of her back. Panicking, she turns and fits her face against his body. 

“Fuck, Harry, you’re soaking. God, you love this, don’t you?” he whispers reverently, the roar of the TV next door deafening but still not enough to drown out Harry’s wet breath against his shoulder. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Baby? I want you to squeeze my finger with your pussy. Let me feel how much you want it.” His voice is hard gravel against her throat and her muscles tighten around his finger, already needing more, fucking herself down greedily when he  _ still  _ doesn’t move the way she wants. “God, I wish it was my cock in you. Just wanna spread you open and get inside you. Let you get me off just like this.”

“Xander,” she begs, her hips jumping pitifully. 

“Another one?” He asks, drawing his finger out with a torturously slow drag before circling her clit with her own wetness. As his finger reaches the swollen bump, she bucks in his arms, her front teeth biting her bottom lip as he strokes her with the barely-there pressure that drives her mad. He trails the very tip of his finger along the firm ridge of her clit, pressing down just enough to pull the skin back and expose where she’s most sensitive. 

Preoccupied with not biting clean through her own lip, she doesn’t hear the tell-tale creak of the sofa from the living room, or the soft pad of her mother’s feet on the plush carpet, approaching the open doors to the conservatory. She doesn’t hear her clear her throat. 

“Harry do you need a drink, love?” Anne calls just before reaching the doorway, her voice mellow and soft.

Harry whimpers in alarm, wriggling to try and dislodge Xander’s fingers to no avail before resting both hands on top of the blanket in an attempt to disguise what he’s doing beneath. 

“Answer her,” he warns, his voice barely above a breath, sliding his finger back inside Harry to the hilt and resting the heel of his hand firmly against her aching clit. 

“Not right now, Mum,” Harry’s voice breaks, her anticipatory smile wild and panicked. 

“Xander?” Anne pops her head around the doorframe, her own cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the open fire. 

“I’ll take a water.” 

“That’s no fun!” The vague slur in Anne’s voice suggests she might be  _ just  _ tipsy enough to disregard her daughter’s feral appearance. 

“I’ll leave the fun to this one,” Xander nods at Harry’s brimming champagne flute on the side table beside them before gently squeezing the softness of her arm with the hand not buried inside her. Harry hiccoughs. 

“I think she’s had enough” Anne quips, taking in Harry’s sweaty glow and heavily-lidded eyes. “Harry, if you’re tired, why don’t you go and have a nap?” she asks, misinterpreting Harry’s vacant expression for drowsiness. 

“We might,” Harry acquiesces . “Later.” 

“Well let me know if you’re going up, and don’t forget to say goodbye to everyone before you disappear,” Anne reminds her before making her way through to the kitchen, smiling to herself. 

As Harry hears the fridge door open, Xander’s back at her ear, laughing menacingly. “Oh my God. You got off on that, didn’t you? I could feel it.” Harry whines in response, spreading her legs wider, opening herself up for him, silently pleading with him to fuck in as many fingers as he wants, to make her take it. “You fucking did! She’s probably going to go back in there and tell everyone her daughter’s busy getting finger fucked like a slut just through the door,” he teases. 

“Please,” Harry begs, her chest tight and her eyes wet.

Xander thrusts two fingers into her at once. The angle’s not perfect anymore, and his wrist’s probably cramping, and if they were in bed she’d need  _ more  _ against her clit - preferably the perfect wet vacuum of his mouth - but in the tight space left in her joggers, it’s enough. His palm keeps bumping against where she’s trembling and  _ so  _ swollen for him, his fingers coring her open. And she can hear it now, the quick lick of her wetness between them. She can smell herself, sharp and hot, and knows he can too. 

Xander’s  _ always  _ good at this, always knows what she wants and how much of it to give her. Truthfully, she’d spent weeks worried he wouldn’t be able to find his way around her afterwards, scared that he’d give up or get offended when his insatiable girlfriend needed more than a rough handjob or two fingers against her prostate to get off. But when he’d set entire afternoons aside for them, with massages and baths and silk lingerie and Harry propped up on an assortment of pillows while he licked, fingered, and sucked her everywhere until he found what worked for her over, and over, and over, she knew she’d worried for nothing. 

“You look so fucking good baby,” he says, replacing his first two fingers with his middle and ring finger as he fucks her open, rubbing his thumb over her clit in rough passes the way he knows gets her off the hardest. “I can feel how close you are. You’re so tight I can barely get inside. You need it  _ so  _ bad, don’t you? You’ve been so good for me. So fucking quiet and slutty. My perfect girl.” 

She can hear her pulse in her ears, roaring and hot. She’s  _ seconds  _ away from dragging the blanket off them and ripping off her joggers. Fuck everyone else in the house, she’s beside herself. Needs to open her legs  _ wider  _ so she can get  _ more  _ of him inside. So he can pull orgasm after orgasm out of her until she’s dripping and weak. 

Frantic, she drops the blanket where it’s balled in her fists and takes a hold of his sweater. “Kiss me, please, please. Please, fuck. Kiss me,” she begs, louder than she ever intended but  _ way  _ beyond caring. 

“Because you can’t be quiet-” he smirks.

“Please,” she almost wails, past the point where she can be teased, her cheeks red and blotchy, her eyes wild. He fits his mouth to hers and immediately she groans in relief. She can  _ just about  _ manage while she can suck on Xander’s tongue, feeling the rough scratch of his stubble while she pants out her want into the space he makes for her. 

She tells him she’s coming like it frightens her. She’s almost silent, breathily chanting “coming  _ fuck.  _ I’m  _ coming  _ oh God-“ into his open mouth. And as she comes she feels the thick trickle of it soaking into the seat of her joggers, and part of her brain begs her to stop, to clench up and hold  _ that  _ in. It’s the same part of her brain that’s  _ screaming  _ at her to remember her family in the other room. To think about  _ anything  _ but the thick drag of her boyfriend’s fingers in her needy cunt. To just let herself get off  _ just enough  _ to take the edge off. But she can’t stop. Feels it sluicing out of her with every crooked thrust of Xander’s fingers. And suddenly kissing is too much, and she can’t breathe through it. She has to take a dry mouthful of Xander’s jumper in a blind panic to gag herself. 

“Do you think they heard?” she moans, weak in his arms. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
